GILES OR SOMEBODY
"MY dear, it is absolutely unimportant. You make such a fuss. I have
told you before that I have a weak heart; and I must expect attacks of
this kind. The fact is, I ought to be more careful; and these steep
hills try me. I shall get a quiet day to-morrow."
Mrs. Keith spoke in feverish accents, her lips working. She seemed
entirely unstrung. She had rallied from the faint, and had insisted on
going to her own room, carrying the unopened letter, begging to be left
alone. Phyllys, anxious and perplexed, crept in later, and found her on
the sofa. A whisper of inquiry brought remonstrance.
"The attacks seem to come without cause, so I shall have to be more
particular."
"Had" there been no cause—no connection between Giles' handwriting and
the swoon? Yet, why should Giles' presence at Interlaken startle her,
when she so wished him to come?
"And really," she went on, "they are of no consequence, so long as I
do not over-exert myself. But I feel that I 'must' have a day of real
rest, all to myself." She sighed, as if oppressed. "These dear good
people are most kind, but I get so worn out with the perpetual talk. I
want you to help me, dear. If you could contrive to have them off my
hands for a day, it would be a mercy."
She fixed troubled eyes on the girl.
"I don't think they would like that."
"They would not mind. I have thought it out. We will persuade them to
go to S. Beatenberg to-morrow; and at the last moment I shall slip out
of it. You must give them no hint. I hate the idea of that funicular
railway."
"But—if Giles were to come—only of course you will be here, so that
will be all right."
Mrs. Keith seemed amazed. "Giles!" she said. "I wish he would."
"Perhaps he will look in to-night—if he is still at Interlaken." The
other's bewildered face made her add, "The letter we brought from
Thun—don't you remember? In Giles' handwriting."
Mrs. Keith broke into a loud laugh; then put her hand to her head.
"These fainting-fits leave me so confused. Yes; now I remember. You
did say something of the kind. But, my dear, that is a mere business
epistle—from 'quite' another quarter. A man with an altogether
different name."
Phyllys felt sorely disappointed; and Mrs. Keith, pulling herself up,
brought from her pocket a torn envelope.
"Now you can see. Not Giles' writing at all, though I grant there is
a resemblance. One of those accidental likenesses, which have nothing
to account for them. Giles is at home still, and the tiresome fellow
seems determined not to come out. I am beginning to think—" and she
smiled—"that my best plan will be to cut short the Swiss trip, and to
take you there. Would you like to see Castle Hill again? Ah, I thought
so. I have you for a month, and I do not mean to be cheated out of any
part of it. We shall see to-morrow. These attacks leave one hardly fit
for anything but home."
Castle Hill—and Giles! Had it not been for the thought of Giles, a
cutting short of the Swiss trip would have meant dire disappointment.
Things being as they were, Phyllys only hoped she did not betray too
much gladness. She lowered her eyes for an examination of the envelope;
and again the strong resemblance to Giles' writing impressed her.
Certain letters were differently formed; but the remainder she could
have declared in a Court of Justice to be his.
"A mere chance likeness, you see," Mrs. Keith said lightly; and Phyllys
forebore to contradict.
The proposed excursion was taken up by their host and hostess, though
not without hesitation on the score of Mrs. Keith's unfitness. It was a
shock to Phyllys' sense of honesty, when the latter cheerfully assured
them that she was "perfectly well," that "nothing would do her so much
good as a trip up the mountain," and that she was "longing to try one
of those charming mountain railways."
Next day proved fine, and Mrs. Keith went so far as to dress for the
start. Not till the last moment did she draw back, sinking into a
chair, faintly professing herself so much fatigued, that she hoped
they would excuse her. No—she would not let Mrs. Forsyth remain at
home. Rather than that, she would go, though it might mean another
fainting-fit. All she needed was a quiet day on the sofa.
Reluctantly the Forsyths yielded, left her in charge of the Swiss
maids, and went without her.
Not, however, to S. Beatenberg. No sooner were they on the steamer,
than Mrs. Forsyth suggested a day at Interlaken, deferring the S.
Beatenberg excursion until Mrs. Keith could form one of their party.
She had so wanted to try the mountain railway!
Mr. Forsyth agreed, and it was not Phyllys' place to set them right. So
instead of landing below S. Beatenberg, they steamed to the farther end
of the lake, amid a goodly number of excursionists, though not so many
as a few weeks earlier. It was a cool autumn day, and the woods were
gay with red and gold.
At Interlaken they wandered along the Barnhofstrasse, poked in and out
of shops, and picked up presents for friends at home. It was all too
smart and fashionable, Phyllys decided, and not to be compared with
the village where they stayed; yet she enjoyed it much. The Jungfrau,
solemnly overlooking the town, had not here the aspect of a white
guardian angel as when viewed from Châlet S. Jacques.
"More like a lump of chalk," suggested Mr. Forsyth, and though Phyllys
repudiated the suggestion it recurred to her mind.
One way and another the hours slipped by. Late in the afternoon they
had tea outside a shop, then went to the chief Promenade, the Hoheweg,
where they encountered English friends. Mr. Forsyth disappeared with
the gentleman of the party, and Mrs. Forsyth sat down for a talk with
two elderly ladies.
Phyllys joined in for a while, then wandered a short distance, and
gave herself up to the study of the Jungfrau. No look of "chalk" now!
Something in the state of the morning atmosphere must have caused that
aspect. The mountain-mass reared its mighty head in majestic style,
and broad reaches of snow descended low like trailing skirts of white.
Higher peaks were partly hidden by drifting clouds, but one and another
appeared in turn: and each moment the mountain altered, the shapes of
rifts and hollows changing as she gazed. A clear basin of snow, for a
time visible, vanished utterly.
She watched with interest the Schynige Platte, where the Forsyths had
promised to take her. In the far distance she could make out a tiny
mountain-train creeping slowly up the steep sides, carrying a minute
cloud of steam.
Glancing to make sure that she was not wanted, she received a nod from
Mrs. Forsyth; and she wandered farther, getting among trees. It was
evident that her friends were in no hurry to move. Suddenly her heart
gave a throb, stopped, then beat furiously.
Could it be—Giles?
A big man, broad-shouldered, sat alone at a small table; his face
turned half away. The shape of his powerful shoulders; the attitude;
the manner in which he leaned his head on one hand; the grave
immobility—all indicated Giles. He seemed to be deep in thought; lost
to his surroundings.
She was not near enough to make out more. She stood partly behind a
tree, gazing. Whether or not in consequence of her gaze, he turned, and
she had a glimpse of his strong sunburnt profile.
"Giles!" she whispered.
Why had Mrs. Keith denied his presence?
But the face looked older than when she had seen him last; not thinner;
not paler; only markedly older. She almost thought his hair had gained
a touch of grey. Could he have been in some terrible trouble lately?
Was there some mystery about him, hidden by Mrs. Keith, sufficient to
account for his refusal to come to S. Jacques?
It was all bewilderment; and she began to wonder if she were dreaming.
She put her hands over her eyes for three or four seconds. When she
looked again, the figure was gone.
[Illustration: SUDDENLY HER HEART GAVE A THROB.]
She went slowly back, in a dazed condition, questioning whether it
had been a trick of the imagination. She wished now that she had gone
nearer, to make sure. Yet, no! For if Giles were there, and chose to
avoid her presence, it was not for Phyllys to go after him.
To the Forsyths she said nothing of what she had seen or imagined.
On arrival they found that Mrs. Keith had retired to her room. "Madame"
had been a long time away, the Swiss girl said, when questioned. She
had twice been out in the morning, and had received two telegrams; and
then she had said that she would get fresh air on the lake.
She had returned but lately—by the boat preceding that which had
brought back Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle. Yes, surely, Madame
had returned by that boat, for she would not all these hours have
walked about Hilterfingen and Oberhofen, not once entering the châlet.
Mrs. Forsyth and Phyllys made their way to the bedroom, to find Mrs.
Keith hard at work, packing. Her cheeks were flushed; her manner showed
excitement.
"Yes, I went out," she said. "I thought it might do me good. My nerves
seem all to pieces, and I could not keep still. So I took the boat to
Interlaken and back—for the sake of the air. You there—too!" with a
start. "Then you gave up S. Beatenberg. What a pity! No, I did not see
you. I was—no time ashore. Just for a cup of tea."
"I think you would have been better quiet," remarked Mrs. Forsyth.
"Perhaps. It may have been a mistake. But something in Swiss air
does not suit me. I seem to be a wreck of myself—" and she laughed
nervously. "So I have decided to go home. To start to-morrow. Phyllys
will not object—and you must not think me ungrateful. I have made up my
mind."
Had she seen Giles? Phyllys all but asked the question; and then
something in that unhappy face, with its haggard flush, held her
silent. As once before, the wonder arose—"was" Mrs. Keith perfectly
sane? Could it be that her brain was ever so slightly "touched"?
Phyllys decided not to risk exciting her further.